You are not with me — only the moon,
The sea and the gulls’ cry, out of tune;
The myriad cry of the gulls still strewn
On the sands where the tide will enter soon.
You are not with me, only the breath
Of the wind — and then the wind's death.
A shrouding silence then that saith,
“Even as wind love vanisheth.”
You are not with me — only fear,
As old as earth's first frenzied bier
That severed two whose hearts were near,
And left one with all Life unclear.